We've Waited Long Enough
by nocturne-du-corbeau
Summary: Based on The Empty Hearse when they did the thing. This is what I imagine happened after the cut. Smutty goodness; awkwardness and giggles; bottom!moriarty. First that I've written alone. I do not own the characters or the show. If I did, I'd sell it to HBO because of all the smut and cursing. Finally complete. R&R welcome.
1. Chapter 1

There they were- James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes- sat on the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Jim could feel the puddle he'd sat in beginning to seep through his coat and into his trousers, but he didn't care. He found he had a hard time caring about much when he was with the consulting detective. As he'd told the taller man before, Jim and Sherlock were made for each other. Like yin and yang, they belonged together. He listened to Sherlock's staged farewell to one Dr. John Watson and couldn't help but snicker. It was almost too much. Only an idiot would fall for such a ridiculous prank such as the one they were in the middle of, but John was certainly that idiot. Sherlock turned and shushed James and he tried to stifle his snickering by pursing his lips. Finally, Sherlock let the slap-dash dummy he had put together go. "Oh!" Jim couldn't help but laugh when he heard John's despairing cry of "Sherlock!" Chuckling, the consulting criminal turned to look at Sherlock who had starting laughing too. Oh, what a sound that was.  
Moriarty's laughter faded as he met Sherlock's eyes. He'd never noticed exactly the colour of them. How blue they appeared in the faint sunlight of that cloudy afternoon, and, at the same time, how green. Mesmerising, hypnotic, stunning, breathtaking: all were words Jim could find to describe Sherlock's eyes, yet none of them did them any justice. His smile dropped into a thoughtful expression and he found himself staring at Sherlock's lips. How many nights had he stayed up wondering what that cupid's bow would taste like? Or how it would feel on every centimeter of James' flesh? The more Jim thought about it, the shorter his breath came until it was almost as if he weren't breathing at all. His heart began to race and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Sherlock looked at Moriarty and saw him in a way he'd never really seen another person. He admired the way Jim's eyes crinkled when he smiled and laughed. The lilting giggles were a new sort of music and stirred butterflies in the detective's stomach that he didn't know it was possible to have. This was… attraction, he recognized. He thought briefly and realized that he had always found Jim to be at least objectively attractive with his charming grin and neat appearance. Further thought revealed that Sherlock had always found him attractive regardless of objectivity. Jim was an equal, even if on the opposite side of the same coin. His brain, his wit, his personality. If Sherlock didn't know better: he'd say James Moriarty was irresistible. At this point, he was beginning to think that maybe he didn't know better after all.  
Dilated. Moriarty's pupils were unmistakably dilated, and Sherlock knew his own must be, too. He took note of his own elevated pulse and wondered if Jim's was too. The sleuth felt a tingle run down his spine when Jim stared at his lips. As if compelled by some invisible, surreal force, Sherlock glanced at Jim's lips and leaned in slowly.

Like moving through a dream, Moriarty moved in too, closing the distance between them. Their lips met almost timidly and Jim inhaled sharply. His mind stopped racing, stopped altogether. Instinctively, he pressed into the kiss more. His heart skipped a bet when he heard Sherlock exhale what sounded like a blissful sigh. Almost simultaneously, they pulled away with a bit of surprise. They studied each other's faces before diving back into the kiss. Hotter, this time, and more needy. Each man parted his lips and Jim coaxed Sherlock's tongue into his mouth with his own. Sherlock gave a small, almost grateful, moan and slid his tongue over the top of Jim's, earning a soft moan in return. Tongues dancing together turned into tongues battling for dominance and Sherlock shifted his weight, pushing Jim onto the concrete of the rooftop. The criminal's breath hitched and he clutched desperately to Sherlock's coat.  
Hands fumbled, touching everywhere they could reach: grabbing hair, caressing exposed flesh, cupping an arse cheek or pinning a hip down, hard enough to bruise. When the need for air superseded the need for each other, they broke their kiss, breathing as heavily as if they had run a half-marathon together.  
"Apparently the flirting isn't over," Sherlock teased breathlessly. "Unless 'Daddy' /has/ had enough now?"  
"Oh, certainly not. And you are the one who said we had a 'special something'. Why don't we go back to my place and you can show me just how 'special'?" Jim smirked wickedly and leaned up to nip at Sherlock's bottom lip.

Sherlock bolted to his feet, yanking Jim with him and they bolted for the stairs to the hospital. Together, they wound through the flights of stairs and nearly scrambled out a back door. Jim opened the back door to his private car and slid in after Sherlock.

"Home," he growled at the driver. The car pulled away and it was Jim's turn to pounce. He pulled Sherlock under him on the back seat and licked his way into the detective's mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

The flat and home of James Moriarty was stately and very clean. Sherlock didn't take the time to notice as he and Jim were already stripping each other of their clothes. Sherlock stumbled as he tried to wriggle out of his trousers, earning a chuckle from Jim.

"Let me help you with those, my dear," he purred, pushing the taller man against the wall. He slid the fabric from slender, pale legs and cast the slacks aside, standing straight up again. Sherlock smiled at him and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Jim backed up, pulling the detective toward his bedroom.

They collapsed on the bed ungracefully, managing to smack foreheads. They both chuckled breathlessly and mumble a 'sorry'. Jim shifted back toward the pillows, managing to kick the duvet and sheet halfway off the bed. Sherlock kicked them off the rest of the way and crawled over the shorter man.

"Well, that was… less than extraordinary," Sherlock commented. "Let's hope that's not an omen for the rest of this event."

Jim chuckled. "I certainly hope not, but then… I've never believe in a thing like omens. Lube is in the nightstand drawer. Condoms, too, but… I'm clean and I'd like to feel more of you."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm clean, too. I had a blood test when Mycroft sent me to rehab," he explained. He leaned over to open the nightstand drawer and reached in blindly. He grabbed what he thought was a bottle of lubricant, but instead, was a smooth black vibrator. The consulting detective raised an eyebrow and looked at James.

Jim laughed and shrugged. "Consulting criminals get lonely, too. If you dig deeper, there may be a sticky photo of you, too," he teased.

Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully. "This toy may come in useful later, but for now it's just you and me." He dropped the vibrator back into the drawer and produced the bottle of lubricant instead. Sherlock sat up on his knees between Moriarty's legs. "Are you sure you want me to top?"

"I don't see why not. It seems the easiest way to start since you're already on top and given the height difference."

Sherlock nodded and spread lube over two of his fingers. "Spread for me, beautiful," he muttered. Jim moaned softly as did as he was told, his cock standing straight up between his legs and twitching slightly under Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock reached down with his lubed hand and traced circles around the puckered flesh.

Moriarty gasped. "Bloody hell, your fingers are cold," he whimpered, cursing.

"Then I should warm them up." Sherlock smirked and inserted the tip of one finger into his enemy-turned-lover's entrance. Jim gasped and gripped the sheets. When he relaxed, Sherlock slowly eased his finger father inside, earning a stifled groan from the throat of the consulting criminal. Sherlock worked his finger in and out slowly until Jim was whimpering and begging for more. The detective obliged, adding a second finger and working Jim deeper and faster. Eager to open him further, he began a scissoring motion with his fingers, spreading the man beneath him wider.

When Sherlock brushed his prostate, Moriarty let out a gasping moan, lifting his hips slightly from the bed. His cock throbbed with need and was leaking a thin trail of pre-cum. Sweat beaded his brow and his chest heaved with panting breaths. Sherlock's eyes were dark with lust and he noted how beautiful Jim was when he was vulnerable and needy. He crooked his fingers and worked the other man more, rubbing against his prostate. James moaned louder and arched off the bed, dangerously close to the edge of his orgasm. Abruptly, Sherlock removed his fingers, denying Jim the release his sought. Jim whined in protest.

"You're a cruel man, Sherlock Holmes," he panted.

"You think me cruel now," Sherlock purred, "but you'll thank me when your world shatters when I finally allow your orgasm." Jim's eyes rolled back and he shuddered at the thought. Sherlock gave a brief moment to allow Jim to relax. He gently squeezed the base of Jim's cock to delay his orgasm while stroking his own member slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

"I swear to gods, if you don't touch me right now, you'll regret it," Jim growled.

"Tsk. Not with an attitude like that. I'll touch you when I please."

Jim glared at him with slight disdain but said no more. He enjoyed being at the other's mercy though he didn't know how much he'd wanted it until it was happening. Moriarty closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Suddenly, though, his silent pleas were answered when he felt a hot, wet mouth begin to sink around his prick. He moaned and his eyes fluttered open to glance down at the head of curls lowering itself near his groin.  
"Oh, Sherlock…" James' moan of pleasure was met with a muffled hum of approval. Sherlock worked Jim with his mouth, sucking hard and hollowing out his cheeks as he bobbed his head. Again, he pulled away when Jim was close to orgasm and again Jim whined in protest, panting heavily. Sherlock squeezed Jim's cock gently, delaying his release. Sherlock moved up and caught Jim's lips in a slow, deep kiss thought Jim pulled away quickly.  
"I don't fancy the way I taste, thanks."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, I /do/ like the way you taste and you're just going to have to deal with that." Jim huffed and kissed the taller man, ignoring the taste of his own cock on the cupid's bow. After a moment, Sherlock pulled away. "Come on then, on all fours for me, love."  
Moriarty willingly turned onto his stomach and pushed up onto his hands and knees. Sherlock didn't hesitate to spread the arse cheeks before him and lap teasingly at the widened hole. Jim keened and bucked back against the wandering tongue. Sherlock didn't linger for long before bracing himself on his knees and spreading lube of his aching and neglected cock. He positioned himself and Jim's entrance and began to push forward slowly, rewarded with a slow, drawn-out moan from his lover. Sherlock grasped Moriarty's hips as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt.  
"So tight," Sherlock groaned. "So good." He drew a deep breath and pulled out almost all the way before pushing back in. Gradually, he found his rhythm and he mind never felt so clear. Being used to being the one on the bottom, Sherlock found that topping was just as good and was reminded that sex was just as good as- perhaps even better than- the drugs he had wasted years of his life on. He relished the feeling of Jim around his cock, moving quickly and deeply and pulling Jim's hips back onto each of his thrusts. The room was filled with the sounds of Moriarty's mewls of pleasure and skin-against-skin. Sherlock panted as he moved faster, moving one arm from James' hip to wrap around his stomach. The other hand moved to stroke Jim's cock and each snap of the detective's hips drove Jim's cock into his fist. Jim did his best to rock back into each thrust, adding to the friction. He gripped tightly to the bedsheets, mewling and moaning and panting. He wouldn't last much longer.

Sweat made Sherlock's curls cling to his forehead and the back of his neck as he moved, panting and grunting slightly. He watched Jim writhe and buck and admired the way his back glistened with sweat. Together they moved until Sherlock keened.  
"Cum with me, James," he breathed, slowing his thrusts to focus on depth and power. He thrust deep and rough until he stilled, releasing rope after rope of thick, hot cum. Jim moaned wantonly as he was filled and spent into Sherlock's hands and over his bedsheets, leaving a bit of a puddle. Sherlock released his member and obscenely licked every bit of the criminal's spunk from his hand.  
"Sherlock," James whimpered, and the detective slipped his softening prick from the other's body. Moriarty turned and collapsed onto the bed on his back. "Christ."

"No, I think just 'Sherlock' will do," he teased. Jim chuckled and shook his head at that. Sherlock curled up next to him with his head on Jim's chest, listening to his loudly thumping heart with a small smile on his lips.  
"Hmm… I owe you a fall, Sherlock," Jim hummed.  
"I believe I have already fallen."  
"I don't mean from a building. Besides that wasn't actually you. I mean falling… in love."  
"I knew what you meant. My answer still stands." Sherlock looked up at him then and Moriarty smiled widely.  
"You really meant that?"  
"Of course. There's no other explanation for the way you make me feel, James."  
Moriarty pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss and held it until neither of them could breathe. "Then run away from all of this with me. You're supposed to be dead anyway. We can start a new life together. Anywhere you want."  
Sherlock thought it over briefly. "Paris?" Jim didn't respond to that verbally. Instead he smiled and pulled Sherlock into another kiss, wondering vaguely why they had waited so long and lied to themselves daily.


End file.
